


Keep Calm and Carry On

by th_esaurus



Category: Disney RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/pseuds/th_esaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin relaxes for the rest of lunch, now that he has some certainty. They'll eat, and then they'll go on the London Eye, and then Zac will go to his screening and Kevin will go to Joe's stupid arcade, and then they won't see each other again until the next staged event, the next award ceremony, the next red carpet. Zac won't call. They won't hang out. Kevin will have months and months to compose himself. It'll be fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Calm and Carry On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HectorRashbaum (FifteenDozenTimes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/gifts).



> There are two people I could not have done this without, and many more who made it a better experience. Thanks and love to them all.

Europe always does Kevin good. There's a mystery, an ancient breeze blowing through the place that clears his head. Brittle autumn fields, old red stone buildings, cottages and wind turbines; nothing like the dusty wide planes of America's endless road. They've mostly flown this year, but it's nice to look down and see the greenish land divided into squares likes a chessboard rather than sprawled, all big and untamed. Kevin likes shopping in Europe, too. He likes that boutique assistants here don't smile at you because they're being paid to – it's always a curt nod, a polite enough greeting, and a glance like their clothes are just a little too good for you. It gives Kevin an added satisfaction when he hands over his plastic.

England is quainter, more tightly packed, but Kevin loves it still. He loves the silver service at hotels, the icy bite of the November wind, the cosy tranquillity of the countryside and the rude bustle of the cities. He has about four coats in his suitcase he's dying to bust out.

Kevin feels like he has a lot of love to give, and it's only a slight shame that the landscape can't reciprocate.

*

They make the mistake of trying to scope out Birmingham's sights on foot, without a tour guide, in the middle of a blustery day. Maybe they get lost or maybe Birmingham just has absolutely no attractions to offer (despite Kevin's determination that the entirety of England must be _awesome_ and everything is only, like, three miles away from everything else, at most), but they don't repeat the error in Newcastle, waiting for soundcheck in the beige warmth of their hotel suite. Nick is texting on his Blackberry on the bed, Joe's legs sprawled over his lap, trying unsuccessfully to kidnap Nick's phone with his toes. Kevin watches them idly from across the room, flicking absent-mindedly through a few news feeds on his Mac.

And then Joe says, "Isn't it Zac Efron's thing tonight?"

Kevin looks up. Nick kicks Joe in the chin, and Joe grabs his ankle, tickles him in retaliation. "What thing?" Kevin asks, while Joe tortures Nick's foot.

"Oh, you know. The thing we got invited to. His premiere."

"No. No, I don't know."

"His new movie premieres in London tonight," Nick says brusquely. "You didn't know because we didn't tell you because you get weird about Zac Efron. Anyway, we couldn't go 'cause of the show."

"You made a rhyme, Nick," Joe says dreamily. "I smell a hit single."

Kevin frowns. He hasn't spoken to Zac Efron in months, why would he get _weird_? Heck, he hasn't even thought about Zac for the longest time. Zac had never called, so that was the end of that. It's like there's a blank mark in his memory that's suddenly flooded with colour at the mention of his name; a nostalgic pink hue to the recollection of his face. Maybe it's just that the last time Kevin saw Zac he was blushing; tanned skin turned dark with the rush of blood.

"We should hang out with him on our off day," Joe says, ignoring the sharp jab of Nick's elbow in his side.

"I thought you wanted to see all the art and the old stuff and spend three million hours in Topshop?" Kevin asks.

"Maybe Zac likes Topshop," Joe shrugs. Nick elbows him again, harder. "Or maybe not. Jeez."

Kevin tilts the screen of his Macbook down a little and browses guiltily through OceanUp while his brothers scrap on the bed. There's photos of Zac in London, looking really good, settled into his hairstyle at last. Kevin had been surprised by that, back in August, surprised by the intensity of his cheekbones, the sudden blatancy of his temple. Stupid things. He had wanted to grab onto Zac's hair but that felt forward at the time, and instead he'd rested his palms on the softer curves of Zac's neck.

He accidentally spends an hour on gossip blogs, lingering on the pictures and scrolling hastily past rumours. When Joe throws a pillow at his head and tells him it's time for him to yell at them to get a move on, Kevin feels heavy and unfocused. It's just his usual pre-show jitters, though. He always gets that; nothing special.

*

London is one of those inescapably familiar cities, unfolding like an old photo album that Kevin's only seen once before. Every corner turned is a rush of nostalgia, curiosity giving way to the sense that he knows where he is, sure-footed. He's been to a lot of places, and London not that frequently, but it's still the same as it always is: unmoving cars, ancient history rubbing shoulders with modern art, bistros and street vendors, tourists, businessmen walking with their eyes down. Kevin drinks it all in, grinning, his lips cold with the wind.

They take a small entourage down Regent Street, early enough in the morning that they can walk easily. Nick immediately veers into Barkers, apparently intent on adding to his collection of middle-aged man shoes, and Joe, being Joe, follows him in amicably. Kevin peels away from their posse, wandering up the street alone for a while, admiring the window displays at his own pace. He doesn't so much covet things anymore as make a mental catalogue of what his wardrobe absolutely needs right now and what it can wait a little longer for. He wanders into Lacoste and lets an immaculate young woman guide him through a corridor of identical polo shirts. It's warm inside but his cheeks are still cool and rosy, his hands blanketed inside his gloves, and he's too comfortable for the hassle of stripping off, judging, redressing. He sticks to the street after that.

Without the salience of his brothers, Kevin blends in nicely with the black coats and moneyed air of London's fashion district. He's got a sharpie in his inside pocket just in case.

Kevin sees Zac first. He's got a little gaggle around him, a few girls and a mother, perhaps, and his escort a step or two behind. He's right there, in real life, exactly like Kevin remembers; or not exactly, his collar drawn up around his neck against the cold this time, long sleeves, pale, bleach-stained jeans. Kevin can't see his shoes between the fans so he looks up at Zac's face. He thinks about maybe ducking into the nearest store and waiting until Zac, none the wiser, vanishes into the cold November morning. But that's childish and irrational. So Kevin stands, steadily rooted by Zac's kind, harried smile, and waits until it's time for the girls to move on.

Zac does a little double take when he notices Kevin. Just the tiniest flash of shook-up emotions bubbling behind his eyes, making his head twist and his smile falter. And then he opens his arms wide and says jovially, "Jonas! Wassup!" and pulls Kevin into a familial hug. Kevin's wrapped up in about four layers and a scarf and leather gloves, so not a single part of his body touches a single part of Zac's body. He can smell Zac's cologne more than his scent, the only thing strong enough to withstand the bitterly cold wind that scrubs them down with every breeze. Kevin inhales deeply anyway. And then Zac tilts back and that's another moment passed. Kevin smiles sheepishly. He hopes it's a fancy-seeing-you-here smile rather than an I'm-barely-handling-this one.

Even without their vague shared history unfurling in Kevin's mind, he's never felt entirely at ease around Zac Efron. Zac doesn't seem aware that when he meets eyes with someone, the whole rest of the universe melts away into insignificance. Kevin is a lot aware of this. Zac starts talking about the weather and Kevin spends most of his time staring at Zac's neck, counting the threads of his scarf, so that he won't accidentally get hooked by Zac's gaze and only see in shades of blue for the rest of the day.

"You know what I mean?" Zac is saying. Kevin nods. He's pretty sure he'd know exactly what Zac means if he were paying attention. Zac grins and swipes his thumb across the soft curve of Kevin's cheek, glowing already from the cold and more so from proximity. "You look like a Christmas elf," Zac says, and Kevin doesn't know if it's a non sequitur. He laughs and wishes he could touch Zac that casually.

He did, once, and that took them absolutely nowhere.

They're attracting attention by now, Zac's security keeping the growing curiosity at bay. Zac fishes a pair of aviators out of his pocket and puts them on, and asks Kevin what his plans are. "Oh. Shopping? I'm pretty sure most of today is for shopping. Joe's in charge of everything. He's booked out some—arcade or something this evening, he wants to do a massive get-together before our show tomorrow. London makes him hyper," Kevin shrugs. Behind the glasses, he can't tell if Zac is looking at him or not. He can't tell if Zac would rather be anywhere other than here right now.

"D'you wanna go grab a coffee?" Zac asks.

"What?"

"I mean, do this somewhere more private?" The phrase sounds so familiar – _Wanna come back to my place? Somewhere more private?_ – that Kevin's heart thuds conspicuously against his ribcage, muffled by his sweater and peacoat. "Where are you staying? We can get a coffee at wherever's nearest. Or tea. When in Rome and all that."

"At the, uh, the Soho Hotel."

"Wow, someone's getting fired for not telling me that," Zac replies, a joke in his voice but his smile curiously strained. "Ditto. How about we meet back there in an hour?" Zac flashes him this smile that Kevin can only nod at. He isn't sure what he's agreeing to, nor why. Isn't this horribly awkward? Isn't he failing to engage Zac in any sort of meaningful conversation? Isn't he totally preoccupied with the fact that he's seen Zac naked and Zac is ignoring that fact?

Why is Zac ignoring it?

The crowd is pressing in for real now, a healthy swarm of cameras and autograph books with teenage girls attached to them. Kevin draws a smile across his face and poses mindlessly for a few photos, scrawls an approximation of his name on a few pieces of paper. He ventures back across the street to find his brothers (the shadow of nervous laughter following him is politely but firmly told to wait outside).

Joe and Nick are in the changing rooms with a personal shopper and an entire clothesline of coats and cashmere. Kevin lets himself in quietly, standing in one mirrored corner while Joe zips and unzips the leather jacket Nick is testing, both of them exchanging unsure hums.

"Did you elope with a pair of Italian boots?" Joe asks absently.

"What? No. I—saw someone I knew. We're gonna go for a drink. Tea," Kevin clarifies. "Or maybe coffee. We didn't really decide."

"Don't forget we're being massive tourist a-holes today," Joe reminds him, distracted by Nick from grilling Kevin more, popping Nick's collar up, viewing him from arm's length, then shaking his head.

"I didn't forget."

"We should be rehearsing," Nick mutters, slapping Joe's hands away from his lapel.

"Tomorrow! Tomorrow," Joe replies tunefully, happily manhandling Nick out of his jacket and fetching another one for him to try. Their assistant tries to distract Kevin with an array of colour-coded scarves, but his heart's not really in it; his mind elsewhere, wandering back up Regent Street, towards Zac.

*

Kevin's pretty punctual, and waits around long enough that he starts to worry Zac isn't coming at all. He orders Afternoon Tea for them both, and sits on one of the painstakingly embroidered armchairs, picking at a strawberry tart. He tries to guess Zac's blend of tea and goes with a Forte, cradling it in his hands so it doesn't cool too quickly. His own peppermint sits neglected on the far corner of the table.

Kevin's used to opulent hotels by now, but they still make him sit up straight, on edge. Zac, when he finally appears, claps Kevin on the shoulder briskly and says, "Deer in the headlights?"

"What?"

"Is what you look like. Chill out, dude, security's pretty tight here." He slumps down opposite Kevin and picks up Kevin's china teacup, taking a big gulp of it before Kevin can protest. He makes a slight face. It's probably cold. Or maybe he doesn't like mint. He doesn't seem like an excessive sugar kind of guy. Kevin doesn't really know what kind of guy he is, but he's somehow built up a complex mental picture in the absent months between now and their last meeting, of the clothes Zac wears and the music he listens to and the films he watches in his downtime and the places he likes to be touched when he's naked.

Kevin realises he should probably be making small talk. "How's your—how was your premiere?"

Zac sighs, smiles, pushes his hair back as though it's in his eyes even when it isn't. "Jetlag, screams, same interview seventeen times. The usual. I've got this screening tonight which seems kinda pointless after the premiere, but I pretty much just need to turn up, so." He eats a sandwich, cut delicately into quarters with the crusts sliced off, in two bites, and sucks his finger for the crumbs afterwards. Kevin stares at Zac's chest, because then he won't be staring at his mouth. "I forgot you guys were over here. Touring, right?"

"Yeah. Europe. It's going great."

"Mmm," Zac agrees pointlessly. "I'm doing the whole press shebang. I'm probably meant to be wandering around Soho with Claire for publicity right now, but fuck that, right? Nothing's free."

Kevin feels sort of glowing that Zac chose lunch with him over running around London escaping the paparazzi, even though his logical mind is telling him he shouldn't be as pleased as he is. He got picked first for Zac's team; that's what matters.

Zac's phone buzzes and he thumbs it open, grimaces, then closes it again. He eats a mini éclair in one mouthful. Kevin realises he's supposed to be eating too and not solely staring at Zac, so he picks up a scone and tries his best not to let the whole thing crumble into his lap when he bites down. "So what's the haps, dude? Day off? Paint the town red?" Zac smiles at his own joke. Kevin smiles back automatically.

"I think Joe wanted to see some art. Something modern. He thinks he's a hipster," Kevin says, sighing a little. "So I'll probably get dragged along to look at blobs of paint all day. I wanted to do the Eye. We did this sweet photoshoot in front of it last year and then there wasn't time to actually—Next time, I guess," Kevin shrugs. He'd marvelled at that feat of construction, at its precision and precariousness, hypnotised by the slow, endless rotation.

"So let's do it," Zac says, shrugging.

"I can't," Kevin replies automatically.

"Why not?"

"My brothers—"

"Are their own people," Zac says, smiling a bit hard. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll hold your hand when you get vertigo." For the first time that afternoon, Zac looks uncomfortable, like he wants to take back that sentence. Just for a moment, he curls in on himself, scratching one ankle awkwardly with his foot and directing his brilliant gaze to the floor. Then he eats another éclair and composes himself. Kevin remembers Zac drinking a lot of iced tea, when they were at his house. In the moments between getting through the front door and dropping his keys on the kitchen tabletop, and pointedly pushing back Kevin's lapel, undressing him. Zac had always had this cold glass in his hand, so he had something to occupy his fingers, his mouth. When they weren't being kept busy with other stuff.

"Okay," Kevin says. Maybe he's feeling reckless. It happens, on occasion. They high five on it, and Zac calls his PA to bribe a free afternoon out of her, promising he'll be at the theatre at seven thirty sharp (in the car by seven, yeah, yeah, he's got it).

Kevin relaxes for the rest of lunch, now that he has some certainty. They'll eat, and then they'll go on the London Eye, and then Zac will go to his screening and Kevin will go to Joe's stupid arcade, and then they won't see each other again until the next staged event, the next award ceremony, the next red carpet. Zac won't call. They won't hang out. Kevin will have months and months to compose himself. It'll be fine. He leans back in his opulent chair and crosses his legs, and drinks the tea he ordered specially for Zac while they talk about sports.

*

Nick keeps looking at him funny on the drive. He seems pretty miffed that Kevin's blowing him and Joe off to go hang out with Zac Efron. Or maybe he's just peeved because Joe's dragging him to the Tate Modern and he really doesn't want to go. "I thought you didn't even like him," Nick sniffs when Kevin jovially tells him the plan.

"I hardly ever see him," Kevin says blankly, staring out the car window, trying to catch a glimpse of Zac's SUV across the buzzing hoard of London's city traffic.

"Exactly."

Kevin shrugs, and counts the passing minutes until he gets to see Zac's face again.

*

They park as close to Southbank as they can, a tight circle of security shielding the boys from London's whistling wind and prying eyes. Kevin knows he's meeting Zac at the Eye, gone on ahead with his own entourage to wrangle a pod for their personal use, but he looks out for him on the street anyway, his head down and his eyes searching. Even walking along the Thames seems like a military operation, and they split off into two factions, most of their people flanking Joe and Nick as they head towards the Tate, and just Big Rob hanging back to keep Kevin in safe company.

"You don't have to come up on the wheel with me," Kevin says as they walk along the riverside, trying to sound off-hand rather than rude. "It's really slow. Totally lame. They have all those neat little peanut vendors around if you want some of those."

"Same as every street corner in New York?" Rob says, gruffly amused.

"Yeah. Um. Or coffee places?"

"Rob knows when he ain't wanted," the big man replies, jostling Kevin's shoulder. Kevin grins and picks up the pace.

It's the third time he's met up with Zac that day and he still can't quite look Zac in the eye. They hug in a practised sort of way, slapping a hand to each other's backs and not quite leaning in enough that their chests touch. Zac looks harassed and windswept, evidently having had a harder time convincing his bodyguards that they wouldn't get ambushed half way up the skyline. "They made it sound like girls were gonna climb up the fucking scaffolding," he says breathlessly as they step into the observation pod in a flurry of activity, a few final checks and snap shots for press releases later.

"Someone got on our roof once," Kevin tells him conversationally.

"God, don't let them hear you," Zac replies. The doors shut behind them with a rush of air and suddenly everything is conspicuously silent, voices abruptly muffled and the noise of the city cut dead like a pulled plug. Kevin realises with a jolt that this is it for the next forty minutes. Just him and Zac, alone together.

Kevin thinks the London Eye is probably super pleasant on a day when the sky isn't ash grey, and there isn't a dervish wind whipping up the Thames below, and he isn't trapped in a glass pod with a boy he wants to shy away from and also touch inappropriately. They stand side by side staring out as the landscape, an inch at a time, becomes smaller and wider, unfolding out before them like a faded map. Kevin points out the few landmarks he knows, detailing some dates and anecdotes about St Paul's and Westminster that he's pretty sure are right. Zac hums noncommittally. He makes Kevin feel so inadequate.

After an extended pause, Kevin says quietly, "Why are you hanging out with me?"

Zac fixes his eyes on something in the distance and doesn't blink. "Just thought it'd be nice to see the sights, you know, while I have a free nanosecond." He looks annoyed at himself for dodging the question and clears his throat. "I like hanging out with you. We don't get the chance enough."

"You can call me any time," Kevin presses on.

"Thanks, man."

"You could have called me any time," Kevin says, and immediately regrets it. He catches a glimpse of Zac's sky-coloured eyes just as they cloud over, and turns away, sits heavily on the pod's central bench, crosses his hands over his knees, uncrosses them. Zac stays by the window, maybe leaning his forehead against the cold glass. It's uncomfortably quiet, just the faint metal creak of the wheel's snail-pace turn, and the muffled wind, and Kevin breathing through his mouth.

Zac looks like a model, leaning against the dull horizon. The lines of his body match up perfectly, his thin hips and wide shoulders and carved jaw. Kevin can't remember when he last got to look at Zac, properly drink in the way he's put together. Last—last time he seemed fragmented, weakly lit and half dressed, and Kevin can only remember him as a flash of collarbone, reddish lips, a hand by the shell of his ear, a hand, five fingers, sliding.

Kevin wonders if he'd feel steadier on solid ground right now, and doesn't think so. Also, the London Eye is really, really slow.

They're reaching the zenith of their pivot when Zac sighs and says, "Look." Kevin recognises his tone of voice from a hundred past interviews, from the uncomfortable encroach of a question he doesn't want to answer and can't entirely avoid. "We agreed on this. We agreed that this was going to be a no-strings-attached kind of thing." He says it like maybe he's reminding himself.

Kevin nods hesitantly. They had. They had written a contract between the gasps and laughter, Zac murmuring, "This doesn't have to be anything, let's just have fun with it, alright?" and Kevin kissing his assent against Zac's mouth. He hadn't known what else to do. Zac had sought him out after the Teen Choice Award ceremony when Kevin was high on performance and wonder, enamoured by the casual touch of Zac's hand on Kevin's back guiding him into the backseat of a car, handing him a diet coke, holding his own hot palm up the empty driveway to his house.

Kevin was tied down by reputation and smithed silver and had figured that twenty one was better late than never for his first one night stand.

"I thought we were going to still be friends after, is all," he says very quietly.

"We are friends," Zac replies, sounding surprised. "We had tea. We're doing the touristy thing. Fuck knows I've got a million calls I should be taking right now but I'm not. I'm watching the miserable English view with my friend Kevin Jonas."

"We had sex," Kevin says abruptly. He isn't sure why. Maybe because this seems very much like something he dreamt once, something he invented in a stupid flight of fancy.

"Yes," Zac agrees carefully. "We did."

"Do you wish we hadn't?"

"No," Zac says simply.

"I wish you had called me," Kevin says, quiet again. He looks up, arching his neck until he can feel the stretch, and there's nothing above him but cloud. Zac finally joins him on the bench, not sitting close enough to touch but within reach. Gradually, they start their descent and the world becomes suddenly full once more, the two of them no longer a curious island hanging mid-air.

"I thought about it," Zac murmurs. His legs are crossed and one of his feet is steadily moving up and down like a slow metronome, as if to pace him. "But you'd gone by morning and I guessed that was it."

"I didn't want to wake you."

Zac leans over his knees and scrubs his face with his palms. Kevin wants to hold him really badly. It's been a slow-burning tension, a desire nudging at him this whole day, but right now he really, really wants to put his arms around Zac and feel him again. Zac shifts, and an inch of space between them disappears. They both look out at the landscape, the city neither welcoming them nor entirely indifferent. The buildings seem to look back distantly, a hundred thousand windows facing them, watching their adolescent drama unfold and asking, with an affected air of disinterest: _Well? What are you going to do now?_

"Why did you have to be here?" Zac says eventually. He sounds frustrated but not angry. "Press tours are enough fucking stress as is and you confuse me."

"I'm sorry," Kevin whispers.

"No," Zac tells him. He puts his hands heavily on Kevin's shoulders and for a moment, Kevin thinks Zac's going to try and shake some sense into him: tell him that this is ridiculous, that they are famous, that they are _boys_, that they—

Zac kisses him. Kevin blinks and his eyelashes catch on Zac's cheeks. He moulds into the contours of Zac's chest so easily, held together by his hands and his lips. Zac pulls back an inch, too soon, and murmurs, "Just, open your mouth a little," and Kevin does, and Zac kisses him again. His tongue runs a slow line along the wet edge of Kevin's bottom lip.

"'S glass," Kevin says, so quietly the words dissolve between Zac's lips. He puts a hand on Zac's chest and pushes him back like it's the hardest thing he's ever done. "It's glass," he says again wretchedly, motioning with his eyes towards the clear ceiling, the non-existent walls. Kevin hates the London Eye right now.

"Shit," Zac murmurs. He puts some space between himself and Kevin, like he doesn't trust his hands not to seek Kevin out anyway. Then he looks at his watch, and then at Kevin, and then at the sky. "There's—we've got time. If we—we can get back to the hotel, like, as soon as we hit the ground."

"The hotel?"

"Yeah," Zac says tersely, getting up and running both hands through his hair. It stays flipped back for a few seconds, falling back into place across his temple in slow motion. Even dishevelled and thick with the afternoon, Zac's hair looks perfect. The English damp disagrees with Kevin's curls and they're all in a lifeless heap above his face.

"You should rest up," Kevin says, trying to stop his voice shaking. "Before your thing tonight. With the. The movie. Your screening. You don't need to waste your whole afternoon with me."

"Shut up," Zac tells him.

"Honestly, you're not obliged to hang out with me. Just because we—that one time—it's okay, it was just, you know, it was just a fling." He tries really, really hard to make it sound like he believes that.

"Shut _up_," Zac says, more forcefully. "Jesus, Kevin. I didn't call you because I didn't want to start something I couldn't stop." He rubs his hand across his mouth, turning his lips pale and thin. Even though perhaps people can see them, Zac sits back down very close to Kevin and nudges his forehead against Kevin's, brushing noses, brushing lips, just for the length of a breath. "You could have got in touch with me, you know," he says gently.

"I didn't want to be—that guy," Kevin replies.

"Which guy?"

"The one you—sleep with more than once." Kevin makes a face and links his hands together tightly. "Except now that I think about it, I do want to be that guy."

"Good," Zac replies, finally smiling. "Let's go back to the hotel, okay?"

*

Joe is Kevin's least favourite brother in the _entire world ever_. He's there waiting at the bottom of the wheel with this huge grin on his face, even though Kevin secretly hoped he would've got bored and impatient with all his pseudo-art and moved on to the arcade already. He's the kind of guy who, out of neither spite nor heartlessness, would never miss Kevin's presence at a party. This is the one time Kevin would have forgiven him unconditionally. But he's not at a party. He's in the docking lounge with one arm slung around Nick's shoulders and the other up in the air, waiting for a high five. "Zac! My man!" he calls. Zac touches Kevin's elbow for a second, placating, and then strides on ahead, slapping his palm warmly against Joe's. "Kevin didn't wanna share, so we came to kidnap you."

"I wasn't consulted about this plan," Nick tells him. Zac laughs, knocks fists with him too. Kevin runs through a hundred excuses in his head to drag Zac away, but all of them totally freaking suck.

"We're having this awesome shindig at the Trocadero," Joe continues, "at, like, now o'clock. It's this huge arcade in the West End and you gotta come. The end."

Kevin watches Zac catch his smile before it can fade. "Aw, dude. I would, but I've got this screening tonight—"

"Tonight? It's still today. You're not too cool to hang with us now you're making cheap, ponderous indie flicks. You're coming with."

So Zac comes with. To the Trocadero. With everyone. Including, but not exclusively, Kevin. Which is why Kevin pretty much hates Joe.

The arcade, in itself, is pretty epic. Any other day and Kevin would probably love it, just like on any other day he would've loved the Eye. There's two stories of first-person shooters, racing games and dance stages; a bowling alley, tiny driving ranges, Guitar Hero, some faux drummer rip-off; even a poor excuse for a casino, over eighteens only, which Joe will no doubt try and sneak Nick into. Everywhere is conspicuous and crowded with faces Kevin knows, crew members and band mates and extended families of, people who want to congratulate him on another awesome leg of another awesome tour, or buy him a drink and some nachos, or challenge him to shoot zombies' faces off. It's loud and inaudible and vast and cramped all at once, and in between the vivid light bulbs and the dark black holes, Kevin loses sight of Zac almost instantly. There are people everywhere, when all Kevin wants is a little time to himself. He just wants to be in his hotel room, in his bed, where nothing is expected of him for five minutes, completely alone, except maybe with Zac. Doing nothing with Zac. Even that would be better than doing something _not_ with Zac.

It's been the longest day.

Joe bounds up behind him, wrapping his arms tightly around Kevin's waist. Kevin inhales deeply and puts on a smile and says, "Hey. How was your gallery?"

"Oh man, it was awesome. Nick hated it." Joe props his chin on Kevin's shoulder and nuzzles into his neck, just slightly, because he missed Kevin. "Are you having a good day, Kev?"

"Yeah. I mean. Yes."

"It's cute that you still think you can lie to me."

"I'm having a good day," Kevin sighs. "Weird but good."

Joe squeezes Kevin's belly and then nods, easing up. "Zac's wasting all his change on those coin slot machines," he says casually. "I think he was looking for you."

"Oh," Kevin says carefully. Joe doesn't say anything more, just pats Kevin unhelpfully on the back and beams at him and then saunters back into the fray, yelling for a bowling tournament in five, be there or be square. The crowd thins out as they follow him. Kevin navigates the maze of neon and noise until he finds Zac mindlessly churning pennies into a machine that doesn't seem to be reciprocating. "Hi," Kevin says. He says it in a normal voice, but it sounds quiet and thin under the cacophony of bass.

"Hey," Zac replies. He looks tired, the lights bouncing off his hair and skin. He feeds another few coins into the machine, watching them fall, lost, into the pile.

"I think you have to time it," Kevin says helpfully. "So it knocks them like a chain reaction."

"I'm not really trying to win. England has way too much coinage, I need to lose the extra weight."

"Oh right," Kevin says. He chews on his bottom lip. "I'm sorry today didn't work out," he tries. It sounds like a stupid consolation. I'm sorry my brothers are pushy idiots. I'm sorry I wasn't quicker-witted. I'm sorry we didn't get to make out in your hotel room.

"Today worked out," Zac replies. Finally, he turns to Kevin, his smile like a blooming sunrise. "It just--didn't quite get to second base." He glances around, maybe to see if anyone's eavesdropping, but then he spots Guitar Hero, declares it sweet, and challenges Kevin to a game or two.

"I'm really good," Kevin informs him quite seriously.

"I'll make sure not to cry like a bitch when you whup me," Zac assures him.

They only get through three songs (all of which Kevin wins, surprising neither of them) before Zac says he has to go. He says it as though the words are being pulled out of him on a wire. "I should've called you," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I could've had you this whole time, you know? For weeks and weeks." Then, all of a sudden he says urgently, "Walk to the garage with me." He doesn't wait for an answer, just grabs Kevin's elbow and tugs him along. It takes forever to get to a remotely bare corridor, everyone wanting to stop Zac and say goodbye, wish him luck. Zac takes everything with good grace, but Kevin can see him rocking on the balls of his feet every time they stop, restless and jittery. It's the least composed he's been all day. Kevin wonders if anyone else has even noticed.

There are stragglers and staff lurking around so Zac doesn't stop walking and Kevin struggles to match his stride. At this rate, they'll reach the garage in seconds, and that's where Zac's car is, and then Zac will be gone.

"I'm going to call you," Zac says fiercely.

"I'd really like that," Kevin replies, stammering. "I mean, we—we should definitely hang out again, this was, it was really great, and I think—"

"Listen to me. I'm going to call you tonight, as soon as I get back. My room number's 308. Got it?"

"What?"

"_Got it_?"

"308," Kevin repeats. "308."

"Okay," Zac says. "I'll see you later." He holds out his hand, and Kevin stares at it blankly for a moment before he realises he's meant to shake it. Zac clasps his palm tightly, his smile stretched with something like worry. He leans in, just an inch, and then drops Kevin's hand, and then leaves.

Kevin breathes out.

*

When they get back to the hotel suite, Nick tells Kevin to get changed, they're going out for dinner. Kevin is peaceful by nature, but he has never wanted to hit Nick in the face as badly as he does right now. "I'm really beat," he says, instead of resorting to fratricide. "I think I'll just crash here, you guys go on out."

"Don't be stupid," Nick scoffs, unlacing his shoes. "Mom and Dad are meeting us in the lobby in thirty minutes, get on it."

"Really," Kevin says, a whine of desperation reaching his voice before he can stop it. "I'm exhausted. And I've got a killer migraine coming on. All those flashing lights." He kneads at his temple for effect. "You guys have a good night, you won't miss me. You don't even need to knock when you get back, I'll probably be asleep."

Nick stops what he's doing and stares at Kevin like he's a spelling mistake Nick can't quite see the error in. Kevin tries to school his body language so hard he's practically vibrating. He should go with Nick. He should go eat with his family and be grateful and only think for a moment about Zac coming back to the hotel, dropping his bags, calling Kevin; getting Kevin's voicemail. He knows that would be for the best. He tells himself that.

"Okay," Nick says, finally. "Whatever. As long as you're cool for the show tomorrow."

Kevin nods mechanically, balling his fists so they don't tremble. "I will be, no sweat."

Nick reaches around his neck and pulls him in awkwardly for a hug that's more of a shoulder bump, kissing the corner of Kevin's mouth. "Night, bro," he says, like always. "Love you."

"Love you!" Joe calls from the bathroom, muffled around a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Yeah," Kevin says breathlessly. "Ditto." He really means it.

It's eight o'clock when he puts his phone carefully on his pillow, laying his head close to it so he'll definitely hear it ring. He laces his fingers over his chest, prone and still. That lasts for all of three minutes. He gets up, walks a few laps of the room, jogs a couple more. He sits cross-legged on the edge of his bed and switches on his television, flicking through the pay-per-view movies. He still hasn't gotten round to watching _The Dark Knight_. It's like seventeen hours long, though, so he decides against it. Maybe he could take a shower. His skin feels clammy with the city and tense from emotion. He should probably take a shower. But what if he misses Zac's call? Except that's dumb. It's way too early.

Kevin peels off his clothes, steps into the shower, cleans himself all over and lathers up his hair. The room is steamy by the time he finishes, and he leaves the bathroom door open to let it dissipate.

He wonders if he should shave. He wonders if he should wear the same clothes he was wearing before, or something new. He doesn't know if he has time to pull together a whole new look. What if Zac doesn't even notice? What if he does notice?

Kevin takes a really deep breath and clambers back up on his bed. He moves his phone to the bedside table and lays a towel on the pillow so it doesn't get wet from his hair, another towel cinched around his waist. He puts his arms straight at his sides, and closes his eyes.

Zac hadn't really said much, all those nights ago. But he had said Kevin's name.

Kevin slides his right hand under the slit in his towel and wraps his shower-soft fingers around his half-hard dick.

Then he gets up again and blow dries his hair and styles it and gets dressed. He watches one and a half episodes of _Project Runway_, and then his cell starts ringing wildly on the table beside him. He looks over. It's ten thirty, and it's Zac.

"Oh," Kevin says, though there's nobody there to listen. He grabs his cardkey and his phone and forgets to put any shoes on, and runs.

*

Zac has his cell phone to his ear when he opens the door. "I—" Kevin starts. He's all out of breath and has to stand there panting for a while until he can talk properly. "Hi. Again."

Zac hangs up. Kevin's phone stops vibrating in the hot grasp of his palm.

There's a beat between Zac locking the door behind Kevin and Zac pushing Kevin against it so he can kiss him. It's not a very long beat. His hands are impatient, flitting over Kevin's cheek and shoulders and waist and chest, clutching his shirt and smoothing it back down again, stroking the frustratingly few stretches of skin he can reach; but his mouth is slower, more languid, taking its time with Kevin's lips until they're soft and damp. Kevin can't tell if he's in a rush or not, so he pulls back, breathes in, ventures, "I've got time, we don't have to—"

Zac smiles wryly. This close up, his smile is overwhelming. "I'm in no rush to get rid of you, dude."

"Oh," Kevin says, then, "Ah." He leans forward and presses his parted lips against Zac's softly, savouring it.

It's hard not to draw comparisons. Last time, the first time, Kevin had been confused and Zac had had a few beers and neither of them were properly undressed before Zac's hands slid down under Kevin's waistband and held him, stroked him hard. They had kissed a lot, messily and ineptly. Kevin was never sure the whole night what was expected of him, so he mirrored whatever Zac did, followed him back to the bed and wrapped a shaking hand around Zac's shaft. He recalls the weirdest things: the colour of Zac's bedsheets (pale blue and navy), the hiss of Zac sucking in air through his teeth, the little crease that formed between Zac's eyebrows when Kevin went too fast or too slow. He doesn't remember the technicalities of getting jerked off by Zac Efron. He remembers the intense heat in his thighs and his palms and the back of his knees; he remembers feeling like maybe he might die, and then Kevin remembers coming.

Zac had fallen asleep with his jeans bunched around his legs, and Kevin had carefully pulled them down, rolled Zac's socked off his feet and unthreaded his limp arms from his shirt, folding everything and piling it under his bedside table. He'd slept badly, balancing on the edge of Zac's double bed until day had barely broken. Then he'd collected his things and gone. Just—gone.

Zac holds Kevin's face still between his hands and kisses his cheekbone, his brow, the corner of his jaw, the dusty scatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Kevin isn't sure how to handle the romance of it. His hands hover near Zac's waist, worried about over-stepping a line that's probably not even there, but Zac just takes his palms, presses them against his sides, simple as that. "I think you should be less dressed," he murmurs, words making warm vibrations against Kevin's skin.

"I think you should undress me," Kevin tells him, boldness ruined by the tremble in his voice. "I—if you want."

"I do," Zac says simply.

After the first flurry, they take it slow. Zac lays Kevin back on the bed (cream and ebony, this one, barber shop stripes) and straddles his thighs easily, perched up so Kevin doesn't feel trapped. Kevin's had twenty one years to get comfortable in his own skin but baring it for someone else is another matter entirely, and his fingers fidget as Zac pops each of his buttons open, a stupid flush spreading over his face and down his neck, chasing Zac's progress. Zac lays a golden hand flat on Kevin's stomach when he reaches it, then pokes him gently. "Stop holding it in," he says, smirking.

"I haven't had time for the gym in forever."

"You say that like I care," Zac tells him, and then leans down and kisses Kevin's belly, just above his navel. Kevin wants desperately to tell him he doesn't have to do that, he must be all hairy and pale and probably a bit sweaty, but instead he sucks on his bottom lip and buries his hands deep in Zac's cropped hair. He's wanted to do that for _ages_. Zac lets him, bowing his head placidly and tracing out errant paths on Kevin's skin while Kevin plays with his hair.

"I didn't know you were so freckly," Zac says.

"It's ridiculous," Kevin huffs, smoothing down Zac's little sideburns a couple of times with his thumbs.

"No," Zac says mildly. "You're not." Gently – everything so gentle as though he's worried of spooking Kevin – he takes Kevin's wrists and brings them back down, pining them up by his head on the pillow. It takes Zac a bit of shuffling to lie flatter, all these parts of his body brushing up against Kevin's, their clothes courting as Zac settles himself along the line of Kevin's body. He's heavy but Kevin's stronger than he looks and he doesn't mind the weight of it. It's real and grounding, anchoring every moment as something solid he can cling to later. Zac kisses him against as soon as their lips sync up, and then lets his mouth fall against the crook of Kevin's neck, just breathing steadily for a while.

"I never got why you picked me," Kevin says quietly, after a minute of calm silence. "Of all the people in all the world. I never understood why you picked me."

"I didn't," Zac replies, sounding kind of surprised. He leans up, pulls his shirt over his head in one liquid motion. "It had to be you. There wasn't anyone else."

Kevin doesn't really know what to say after that so he doesn't say anything at all.

Zac stares at Kevin for a long time once Kevin's naked. Zac's naked too, and Kevin sees the appeal in just looking. He moves Zac's hand off his hip so he can better map the jut of it, tilts his chin up so he can watch the tendons of his throat move as he breathes, swallows. Zac nudges Kevin's thighs apart a bit with his knee, examines his erection with curiosity more than anything. They both get distracted by their mismatched skin, olive and ivory. Kevin still has faint tan lines lingering from the long, bright summer, but his torso is almost wholly white, hairy all the way down where Zac is smooth.

"Kevin," Zac says, breaking out into a smile he can't seem to help. "Kevin, I'm going to suck you off now."

Kevin breathes in sharply. The air is warm and so are Zac's hands. "I think I'd like that very much, Zac."

"Good. I'm glad. Spread your legs, okay?"

"Okay," Kevin replies.

*

It's raining outside. The grey threat of it had been skulking around all day, and around midnight, without much fare, it starts to drizzle. The curtains are closed, but Kevin can hear the lazy hiss of thin raindrops falling in handfuls on the window, sliding down the glass to the balcony and washing the remnants of the day into the gutters. It's not the bloated, heavy rain of his hometown, but a quintessentially English sort of weather, persistent and grumbling and purposeless; rain for rain's sake.

"What time's it?" Zac murmurs. Kevin's head is resting on his chest, and he can feel the words as much as hear them. He lifts his wrist but his watch is somewhere on the desk. He untangles himself from the sheets and Zac's arms, and pads naked across the room to look. It's twelve forty-six. He tells Zac, and Zac makes another murmur, indistinct, and rolls over into the warm patch Kevin left behind. It's not particularly late, but Kevin gathers his clothes with quiet, early-morning care, tiptoeing around the room and folding each garment over the crook of his arm. He has a fit of self-consciousness half way through the job and stops, places everything on the nearest armchair, and pulls on his briefs, hopping awkwardly on one leg to try and stay upright.

"What are you doing?" Zac asks, his voice drowsy and thick. "Stop doing it. Come back to bed."

Kevin picks at the waistband of his briefs for a minute, and then shuffles back over. "I was just thinking about what time I should go," he says, whispering inanely as he climbs under the duvet. Zac's hands go to his hips immediately, pulling him close. He strokes Kevin's thighs and stomach absently a few times, and then slides his thumbs into Kevin's underwear, tugging it down. Kevin fidgets, kicks it the rest of the way off.

"How does it even work with you guys?" Zac asks, not bothering to stop his wandering hands. "Do you, like, build a fort in your hotel room and camp out in sleeping bags?"

"I've got my own room," Kevin replies, slightly affronted.

Zac jostles him until he turns over, their noses almost touching. "So no one's gonna notice you're not in it," he says, tilting his chin up so they can kiss.

They kiss for a long while.

"But what if—"

"Can you shut up?"

"I could."

"Mm. Do."

"Zac," Kevin says. Zac kisses him quiet, coaxes open his lips and touches the tip of his tongue to Kevin's. Kevin murmurs Zac's name again but it's involuntary this time, just a quiet litany. The pads of Zac's fingertip keep brushing against Kevin's cock with no real sense of urgency; Kevin had been thinking about leaving a moment ago. "What happens now?" he asks, too comfortable to be scared by the question.

"I guess I was thinking we could fuck again," Zac replies easily. His eyes are low but terribly unguarded. "Would that be cool with you?"

"And then what happens after that?" Kevin asks, a little afraid now. He wraps his arms around Zac's broad shoulders, smoothing his hands over the muscle there, over the planes of his shoulder blades, mapping, memorising. Zac rolls them over so he's astride Kevin's hips, rocks against him in a slow rhythm like a ballad that Kevin punctuates with slight, stuttering breaths. It's not enough to get either of them off any time soon, but it feels good, reassuring. It's not a race.

The muted soundtrack of the city pushes up against the hotel room walls: taxi wheels over wet roads, high heels on stone, laughter, foreign accents but familiar words. It's London, for sure, but it's not like it couldn't be somewhere closer to home too.

Zac leans down and braces his hands either side of Kevin's face. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are flushed, as though he's just stepped into Kevin's arms from the bitter cold. He kisses Kevin's lips feather-soft and careful, and takes his time about it.

"What do you think happens?" he asks.

  
**end.**   



End file.
